The doorbell rings and I pull myself together, smoothing down the arm of my shirt, rearranging the collar, wiping away the dew from under my eyes. I take two deep breaths and head to the door.
A mousy-haired man of about twenty-five stands outside. I examine his smooth pores, the eagerness of his bright blue eyes, the way his mouth slopes up at the corners.
‘I don’t speak to reporters,’ I say.
‘Oh, no,’ he replies. ‘Didn’t DCI Stevenson tell you? I’m your new family liaison officer.’
I close the door, put it on the latch, and come back into the kitchen to make Aiden his cup of tea. The doorbell rings twice more, and then there’s a hesitant knock.
On the third knock, Aiden comes into the kitchen. ‘Who is that?’
‘Our new family liaison officer, apparently.’
‘Aren’t you going to let them in?’
‘Nope.’
I pass him the tea before taking a sip of my coffee. The third knock appears to be the last one. Whatever-his-name-is has taken the hint and left. My phone rings again. I hold it up to show Aiden the screen. It’s Stevenson.
‘What’s going on, Mum?’ Aiden asks.
I shrug. ‘We can’t trust them, can we?’ I think about DI Khatri forcing me out of the press conference, the leaked information about the ransom note.
‘Mum, we can’t ignore them.’ Aiden places his mug down on the table. He’s lost weight, I realise. He hasn’t been to his physio sessions or to the gym. Aiden has been working on bulking his frame for quite some time now. It’s the first time I’ve seen him looking gaunt again. ‘They might have information that we need.’
My sip of coffee rests sour in the pit of my stomach. ‘I know, love, but we also need to protect ourselves.’ I nod my head over to the table, gesturing for Aiden to follow me there. ‘I’ve been trying to work with them, but it’s clearly not working. No one’s on our side, not the police, not the press, not the people who message you on Instagram or the ones who send us cards. It’s me, you and Gina. OK?’
Aiden lets out a short, sharp breath through his nose. ‘What about Dad? Grandma and Grandad?’
‘They’re important,’ I admit. ‘But they’re not us.’
He shakes his head and folds his arms across his chest.
‘Aiden hear me out a minute. I know we didn’t ask for any of this, but we’re famous now. The media has printed our photographs so often, and told our story so many times, that people think they know everything about us. They think we’re their friends. But we’re not.’ I pause to rub my hands together. The itching between my thumb and forefinger is coming back stronger with each day that Gina is missing. ‘Any PC working on the case could sell our information. Any random on the internet could use your social media posts for their own personal gain. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘You want me to stop using the internet?’
I lean back for a minute. ‘Honestly, I’m not sure.’ I think for a moment. ‘No, keep your account’s open. Once Gina’s back you’ll want to use them for your art. It’s your vocation and you shouldn’t give it up. But stop posting and stop replying to messages.’
His face crumples in. ‘You can’t control what I do like this. It isn’t fair.’
‘Well, playing fair won’t bring Gina home, will it? I’ve seen you replying to people online. It could hurt Gina. Don’t you understand that? Anything you pass on to another person could be used against us.’
‘All right,’ he says quietly. ‘But what’s the point in keeping them open if I can’t post anything or comment?’
I rub my eyes and let out a long sigh. ‘What I mean is . . . be careful. Don’t engage with people. It’s important. You know that, don’t you?’
He nods.
‘We’re going to find Gina and we’re going to bring her home.’ I reach over and place one hand on the family laptop. ‘I should’ve done this sooner. I’m going to find a private detective to hire. We need help.’
I can see Aiden’s mind thinking things over. Eventually he nods. ‘You still have to listen to the police though, Mum. They could have important information they can share.’
‘I will, I promise. I’ll call Stevenson back and see what he has to say. We’re not having any more liaison officers, though.’ I think of the forced conversation, the constant platitudes, the prying eyes and listening ears. No, I won’t go back to that.
After we spend a little time researching potential private investigative firms, I give Stevenson a call back. He answers on the first ring, and his greeting is somewhat tense.
‘Emma. Hi. I’ve been trying to get hold of you.’ He coughs, possibly out of nervousness. ‘Listen, my department is working with the Met more and more since the ransom and they wanted you to have a new liaison officer. I sent someone over to you, but it seems you stopped him from coming into the house.’
‘You’re our liaison officer,’ I say. ‘We’re not going through all that again.’
‘It streamlines the process and gives me time –’
‘All you have to do is call me whenever there’s an update,’ I reply, trying to keep my voice calm. ‘And make sure no one leaks information to the press. I’m sorry, but I have to protect Aiden as much as I have to find Gina. If there’s someone in our house for extended periods of time, that means there’s someone who could leak information about us to the media.’
‘Look, Emma, I understand, but –’
‘You’re not talking me out of this. My mind is made up.’ I pause. ‘But that doesn’t mean we won’t help with the investigation in any other way we can. You know I’ve appreciated everything you’ve done for us, in the past and the present.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he says. ‘We’re still a team. OK?’
I remember how he was there for me when Aiden showed me the bunker that cold night in the woods. I remember his calm words on the phone and the fact that he dropped everything to come and find me. ‘OK.’
‘I’m sorry the ransom note was a dead end,’ he says. ‘We’re working hard on every lead we have.’
‘What are those leads?’ I ask.
‘Some potential sightings,’ he says. ‘One in York, which sounds promising. Others, not so much. Devon. Aberystwyth, even Spain.’
‘Will you keep me in the loop?’
‘Of course,’ he replies, and I note the disappointment in his voice. He knows I’ve hardened to him and the rest of the police. That I’ve turned my back on them.
‘All right,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
Aiden is waiting behind me as I put my phone back into the pocket of my jeans. His eyes droop sadly as I recite the news. Despite waking with purpose, the potential sightings leave me cold. There are far too many people out there who enjoy misdirecting the police.
We go back to the laptop, narrow down a list of potential investigators and then make lunch. More stodge. Most of it lies uneaten on our plates as we work. The day wears me down as it goes on, but doing something helps.
Rob and his parents pop in a few hours later. I’d already told them about the failed ransom exchange over the phone on the way home the night before. Sonya pulls me into a hug, but I don’t feel it. Rob’s eyes trail over me from head to toe. He notices the change in my demeanour, but he doesn’t ask me anything while his parents are there.
We make tea. Aiden is silent as I describe how he went into the woods alone. Rob agrees with me about the family liaison officer and the private detective.
‘The police have had their chance,’ he says. ‘They’ve failed too many times. They failed Aiden all those years ago.’ We all nod. It’s time to do things our way.
By the time they leave, I’m wiped out. Aiden goes up to his room as soon as night falls. I decide to watch bland sitcoms until I can no longer keep my eyes open.
I drift. Head bobbing up and down, chin almost landing on my chest. And then I hear it: the unmistakeable sound of a letterbox snapping shut.
I’m off the sofa i
n a second, thoughts of my sleepiness already gone. I sprint into the kitchen and snatch up the letter lying on the doormat. But I can’t open it now. I need to find the person who put it through the door. I grab my keys from the hook on the wall and fumble through them to find the right one. A second or two later I fling open the door and run out into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE CHAPEL
Yes, Emma is a good mother, I have to admit that. But she isn’t a perfect woman. That halo of hers hasn’t always been polished. There was a time when she was as petty as everyone else. Did you know that when I moved to Bishoptown to live with my aunty and uncle, she treated me like an outsider in the same way everyone else did?
Hush, little one. Let me tell you the rest of my story. Let me tell it now, and then we can leave. There’s a place I want to take you, and things I need to do.
Out of everything that happened to me at school, the worst of it occurred at Wetherington House. We were sixteen and on a camping trip. This wasn’t the first time that students had gone camping, but it was the first time I’d been invited. These camping trips were legendary. Half of year eleven would go with crates of Hooch and WKD. There’d be tales of drunken kisses and drunken sex. Afterward, these tales would spread around the school for weeks on end. Who had cheated on who? I’d listen intently, figuring out which relationships were doomed, and which were steady.
I never dreamed of going myself, until Emma invited me.
The week before we’d worked together on a group project. I can’t remember what it was now, some sort of sociology experiment. Forcing the year seven kids to take a questionnaire or something like that. She hadn’t been a bitch to me, like the others, and I took that to mean we were friends.
‘It’s no biggie,’ she said. ‘Just a few people chilling out near Rough.’
Rough Valley was close to the edge of the Wetherington House estate. I’d heard rumours that the camping trips often trespassed onto the Duke’s land, and that we were supposed to be careful in case one of his groundskeepers shot someone.
Exaggeration, of course.
‘Sure, I’ll see if I’m free,’ I’d said.
I remember the wry smile on her face because she knew I was free. It was obvious I was trying to play it cool because I was never invited anywhere.
That night I asked my uncle if I could borrow a tent so I could go camping. He fished out a load of equipment for me, including a camping stove, pans, a torch, mosquito repellent and many other gadgets I use in the chapel now. He lectured me on how to use each one.
‘Will there be boys there?’ he’d asked.
‘It’s just girls,’ I lied.
‘Maybe I should come with you.’
Horrified, I quickly dispelled all his worries and packed my belongings. He’d shown me how to put his heavy-duty tent together. I knew the instruction packet from start to finish on every single one of the gadgets. I was prepared for every eventuality.
When the night came, I got the bus to the woods, lying to Uncle Gregory that I was meeting Emma at her house and travelling with her mother. He wasn’t particularly happy about it, but my Aunty Kim knew about some of the bullying and insisted that I go to make friends. I was sixteen after all; old enough to have sex and live on my own if I wanted to.
I had a ten-minute walk off the bus, dragging my heavy backpack and tent. The straps kept catching in my hair, which I wore in a long, messy plait down my back. Sometimes the boys would yank my plait in the middle of class, but I still couldn’t bring myself to cut my hair.
By the time I got there, the others were already slightly drunk. At first no one noticed me arrive, until one of the boys saw me and pointed.
‘Weirdo! Who invited the weirdo?’
Emma, sat on Rob’s knee, a bottle of Orange Reef in her hand, said, ‘I invited her. Leave her alone, OK?’
There was some snort-laughing, but I smiled gratefully at her before setting up my tent. As I did so, I imagined what it would be like to sit on Rob’s knee. I wondered whether becoming friends with Emma would lead to me being friends with Rob, too, and whether I could then work out a way to get him to dump her for me. For a while my mind drifted to fantasies similar to the movies I watched. The nerdy girl who takes off her glasses and was beautiful all along.
‘What the fuck’s this thing?’
One of Rob’s friends – Dan, I think his name was – kicked at my tent pole.
‘It’s an army tent,’ I replied. ‘I borrowed it from my uncle.’
‘You guys have got to come and see this monstrosity.’
I self-consciously glanced around me at the trendy, colourful pop-up tents that everyone else was using. They were the kind you saw when the camera panned over a festival like Glastonbury or Leeds.
Somehow, during the laughter, someone shoved a beer in my hand. I sipped it – my first ever – and started to loosen up.
Having me there was something of a novelty for them and they decided to make the most of it. They asked me questions. Where I was from. Who I lived with. What my uncle did for a living. It was fun. Until the questions became more personal. Had I ever kissed a boy? Fucked one? Fumbled with one? I searched for Emma, but she was kissing Rob by the campfire.
‘What’s with the hair?’ Dan asked.
I pulled my plait around my neck so that it draped over one breast. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, why? Why not have it cut?’
One of the girls snickered and I knew then that my hair was disgusting compared to the other girls.
‘My mum likes it long,’ I said. I gulped on more of the beer. Saying that out loud hurt. I hadn’t seen my mum for four years at that point. And I hadn’t had my hair cut for that long either.
‘Why don’t you live with your mum?’ someone asked. I can’t remember who.
‘I think I’m going to go to my tent now,’ I said, standing up from the grass. The sun had just set, and I was cold. My cardigan was inside the tent.
‘Going to bed already?’ Dan joked. ‘Bit early isn’t it?’
‘I guess.’ I shivered and drank more beer. I kept searching for Emma, but she was still kissing Rob. They were entwined in each other. Lost within each other. I hated her then. She was wearing his jacket, warm and snuggled with the boy everyone wanted.
‘If you’re cold, come by the fire,’ Dan suggested. ‘Get a bit closer. You could sit next to me.’
I didn’t like Dan. He had an air about him that I’ve come to know as entitled. Hugh had it too, but I could forgive it in him. There were lots of young people in Bishoptown who thought the world was at their feet because they’d been brought up with a little bit of money. Some learn empathy and grow out of it, others don’t. I haven’t seen much of Dan since school so I can’t say for certain that he’s still the same, but my instinct tells me he is.
Despite the fact that I didn’t like him, I still moved closer. I wanted to be more popular. I wanted to make some friends. Maybe the best way to do that was sitting close to a boy for a few hours.
‘I don’t bite,’ he said, opening one arm so that I could snuggle in.
The snickering girl was watching us intently, and I became worried that she was his girlfriend. I hadn’t noticed anything between them at that point, but she had a strange expression on her face. Then I decided that if she was jealous, I liked it. I wanted the other girls to be jealous of me.
I was on my second beer and I wouldn’t say I was drunk, but I was a little buzzed. My heart was racing. Adrenaline worked through me. I sensed a change stirring in me. I was slowly coming into a new kind of power. That night was the beginning, I could feel it.
‘Are you glad you came tonight?’ Dan asked, taking my empty can and replacing it with a fresh one.
‘I’m really glad I got invited,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been to anything like this before.’
He made a bored sound. ‘Eh, they’re not that interesting. But then nothing about Bishoptown is interesting.’ He dra
nk a couple of sips of beer, watching me do the same. ‘Hey, is that a spider on you?’
I stared down at myself in horror. ‘Where?’
But Dan didn’t answer. He pinned me down and shouted. ‘Now!’
The snickering girl pulled a pair of scissors out from underneath her crossed legs. She must have been to fetch them while I was talking to Dan.
‘Turn her over,’ she said.
‘What are you doing!’ I said loud enough that I hoped Emma would hear. She’d invited me here, surely she could stop whatever it was they were about to do.
Dan flipped me on to my stomach with ease, pressing his body against me while I tried to squirm away. He was heavier than me. I had no chance of escaping.
The girl grabbed hold of my plait at the nape of my neck, pushing the cold edge of metal on my skin. There was a slicing sound as she hacked through my thick hair. Her heavy-handedness pulled painfully at the roots and I yelped as it felt like a hundred needles were piercing my scalp.
I sensed the murmuring of the others, along with footsteps that told me people were coming over.
‘You’re not!’
‘Fucking hell!’
‘Dan, you absolute madman!’
‘Oh my God, she’s getting a makeover.’
‘What the hell are you doing?’
The last voice was Emma, the girl who was supposed to stop anything bad happening to me tonight. The so-called friend who invited me here and suggested that I was welcome, who made me think that I would be safe. The girl who had spent all night kissing the boy I had an obsession with.
There was an elbow in my back. I felt the cold air across my bare neck. The girl made some sort of triumphant noise, which was followed by everyone else cheering.
The footsteps moved again and I heard people asking the girl what she was going to do with my plait. Emma was silent now.
Eventually, Dan let me up, and I wiped damp grass away from my face.
I wish I could say that I slapped him or punched him or did anything with agency. I didn’t. I cried. Snot came out of my nose. Tears streamed down my face. I felt what was left of my hair curl up above the bottoms of my earlobes. What would my mum say if she saw me now? How was I going to explain this to my Aunt and Uncle?
Stolen Girl Page 12
